


retrograde

by gayuris



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Losers Club (IT), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Disorder, Blow Jobs, Brain Damage, Car Accidents, Coma, Concussions, Depression, F/M, Gay Sex, Hospitalization, M/M, Memory Loss, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Saturday Night Live References, Separation Anxiety, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 23:21:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20683622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayuris/pseuds/gayuris
Summary: “who the fuck is bill denbrough?”orrichie and stanley get into an accident and richie discovers who his boyfriend’s emergency contact is.





	retrograde

"Fuck Stanny you feel so good,"

Richie mumbles, a few loose curls falling from their place behind his ear as he drapes his chest against the back of his lover. 

Stanley lets out a string of moans in response, arching his back to give his boyfriend better access to his ample ass. 

Richie smirks and brings his hand down on one of his cheeks, causing the blonde to let out a shocked squeal. He uses the opportunity to slip a finger into Stan's mouth, causing the smaller man to wrap his lips around the digit, drawing a low moan out of the comedian.

A sudden announcement over the intercom brings the pair back to reality. 

"Six minutes till air!"

Stan's eyes widen at the announcement, taking his right hand and pressing backwards against Richie's chest, urging him to pull out. 

Richie complies, helping Stan get turned around to face him, and the sight he's met with brings him closer to the edge. The blonde's hair is unruly and untamed, brown eyes blown wide, a slight flush spread across his cheeks. 

Richie flashes a crooked smile, reaching his hand out to rest against Stan's cheek. 

"You gotta get out there soon Rich," Stan smiles, "It's your last show."

The taller man sighs.

After 7 years, his time on Saturday Night Live was finally coming to an end. He loved every second of his job, from late nights in the writer's room, to forgetting his lines on air. Hell, this show is how he met Stan in the first place. 

"Are you gonna finish our pre-show ritual?" Richie jokes, getting an eye roll from Stan, watching as the blonde slowly sinks to his knees and looks up at him. "Anything to get you to shut up."

Before he can get out a snarky response, Stan gently grips his boyfriend's ruddy cock, closing his lips around the head before relaxing his throat and taking him in fully.

"Oh fuck!" Richie exclaims, his head falling back against the door of his dressing room.

Stan playfully pinches his thigh, reminding the taller man to be quiet. Richie nods, threading his fingers through Stan's hair before starting to piston his hips forward, his cock fucking in and out of the blonde's mouth. 

A few stray tears fall down Stan's cheeks, the speed of his lover's thrusts becoming a bit much under the time constraints. He brings a hand up to one of Richie's cheeks, giving it a quick squeeze before pulling off. 

"I'm so close please baby," Richie murmurs, his face flushed and eyes scrunched shut in pleasure.

Stan quickly wraps his fingers around Richie's thick length before pumping with quick, rhythmic strokes. 

It only takes a minute for the comedian to fall apart, letting out a string of curses as his cum paints Stan's face in thick, white stripes. 

"God you look so hot," Richie moans, catching his breath and using his thumb to wipe some of his cum off of the blonde's eyelid, before pressing against his lower lip. The blonde wraps his lips around Richie's thumb, sucking it gently before getting to his feet and pressing a kiss against the comedian's lips.

"We will continue this later," Stan smirks, "But now you've got a show to do."

Richie nods and pulls up his boxers and costume pants, which had been pulled down just enough to get his cock out for Stan. He quickly looks himself over in the mirror and fixes his hair, looking to see Stan cleaning himself in the en-suite bathroom. 

The blonde looks up at the mirror and makes eye contact with Richie, "knock em dead baby." Richie smiles, giving a thumbs up before heading out backstage. 

Once cleaned up thoroughly, Stanley walks out of the bathroom and sits down on one of the couches and looks at the tv on the counter, which is linked to the live feed from the cameras. He watches with pride as his boyfriend takes his place along with his castmates, smiling at the camera to which Stan likes to believe is just for him.

* * *

To say that Richie is happy is beyond an understatement.

It's currently 2:30 am, his castmates and friends dancing and drinking together on one of the local rooftop bars. Stanley had actually been the one who organized this, contacting almost everyone in Richie's contacts to come out and celebrate, wanting to give Richie the recognition he deserves after his dedication to the show all these years.

Richie leans up against the bar and watches his boyfriend dance with Beverly Marsh, the show's head costume designer, and Eddie Kaspbrak, one of Richie's castmates. He chuckles to himself as the three of them bust a move out on the center of the dancefloor, while most of the guests were staying towards the edges of it.

After the song concludes, Stan rushes off of the dancefloor and out of Richie's sight, only to return a moment later with a microphone in hand and the music turned down. 

"May I please have Richie Tozier report to the dancefloor." He smiles, locking eyes with Richie and waving him over. The crowd of friends and family move to the side so the comedian can make his way over, hushed murmurs falling over the crowd as they try to figure out Stan's next move.

Richie finally gets to the center and grabs Stanley's hand, mouthing "what's going on?" Stan takes this as his cue to start speaking.

"I just wanted to thank everyone for coming out tonight," he starts, smiling as he gets some woos from the crowd. "I am so proud of Richie and all of the work he has done on the show. He has always found a way to make me laugh, and I am so happy that he got to make others laugh too."

Richie feels his cheeks heat up at his boyfriend's words, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. 

"Richie, you are the most genuine, kindhearted man I know, and I have been so lucky to have you by my side, when you could have had any other man in New York." Stan says with a smile, his eyes becoming teary. "And that is why I want to ask," he starts, letting go of Richie's hand and dropping down on one knee.

"Will you make me the luckiest man in Manhattan and marry me?"

The crowd gasps, looking between the two men with surprised faces and smiles. Richie smiles to himself and cups Stan's face in his hands, "Of course I'll fucking marry you Stanley!"

Richie quickly pulls Stan to his feet and crashes their lips together as their friends and family cheer in the background. Cameras flash and the music turns back up as the couple embrace each other, with Stan slipping a ring on Richie's finger. 

The rest of the night is spent in each other's arms on the dancefloor, the soft music playing as the soundtrack to the next chapter in their lives.

* * *

"We're almost there honey," Richie says quietly, alerting his half-asleep fiance. 

Stanley turns his body at the sound of Richie's voice but keeps his eyes closed. He had organized for the two of them to stay in a little cottage upstate after the proposal, surprising Richie for the second time that evening. 

Richie insisted on driving, with Stan putting up a little of a fight before settling down and eventually drifting off after departing from the city. 

Richie smiles to himself tiredly and holds Stan's hand, bringing it up to his lips so he can press a light kiss to his knuckles. 

The last thing Richie remembers is the sound of a truck horn blaring before his world falls apart.

* * *

Before his eyes even open, Richie knows its bad. 

He feels the way the car has been rocked, positioned now upside down on the side of the road. The blood has started to run to his head, and he feels a sense of discomfort, almost a heaviness as he tries to crane his neck so he can get a better glimpse of the sight before him. 

Blindly sticking a hand down near his thigh, Richie fights with the seat belt release until he becomes free, falling down on what was the sunroof of his car. 

He groans in pain as he lands on some of the glass from the windshield, already feeling some blood pool on his palms, which he had stuck out to break his fall. He brushes this off and looks up in front of him, seeing the damage to the windshield. 

While there are some cracks and shattered pieces, most of the windshield on the passenger's side is missing. 

Passenger.

Stanley.

Richie's eyes widen as he looks up at the passenger seat, seeing it is completely empty. Heart rate accelerating, Richie looks around, seeing no sign of his fiance.

"STAN?" He yells, trying to climb out of the wreck, his legs feeling almost useless due to the trauma he suffered to them. He reluctantly uses his injured palms to help drag himself forward, trying to ignore the glass spread out ahead of him. 

Richie manages to get through the open part of the windshield, a few pieces of glass falling into his hair. He hears a distant siren wail in the background but blocks it out when he sees what is in front of him. 

He doesn't see the red truck ahead of him caught aflame, or the man on the phone with 9-1-1. What he does see sends his heart plummeting to his stomach. 

Lying a few yards away, is his fiance.

"STANLEY!" He screams, feeling a metallic taste fill his mouth. He begins to pull himself towards his lover, his palms burning with the contact with the pavement. He pushes through the agonizing burning sensation he feels throughout his body, exhaustion beginning to takeover. 

Richie tries to fight against his body closing his eyes, but finds himself unable to pull himself any further. 

He reaches out his arm weakly, barely brushing his fiance's fingers before the sound of the ambulance fills his ears, his eyes glazing over and eyelids falling shut.

* * *

Richie is awoken to bright, uncomfortable light. 

He immediately sits up, panic still coursing through his veins as he looks around at his surroundings. Sitting in a small chair in the corner is Eddie, who's sleeping with his head rested against the arm of the chair.

Richie's heart rate skyrockets, the loud sudden noise waking up the brunette. He immediately shoots to his feet, making his way over to his best friend's side. 

"RICHIE OH MY GOD," he yells, leaning back so he can yell out the door, "I NEED A NURSE IN HERE!"

Richie just stares with wide eyes at Eddie, who shares a similar look before being ushered out of the room as a group of nurses run in and go over Richie's vitals. The comedian begins to feel as though he cannot breathe, and starts trying to rip the wires and tubes out of his arms, sending a nurse running out for a doctor. 

Eddie bangs on the door of the room, yelling for Richie to calm down. 

A few nurses try to hold the comedian down but he is too strong, fighting back against their hold as he tries to gather the strength to get up. 

He has to get out of here. 

He has to find-

Before he can process what's happening, he feels a small pinch in his arm and his eyes begin to feel heavy, the nurses helping him to lay back down before sleep takes over.

The nurses then leave, one assuring Eddie that Richie will be fine, but needed to be sedated. Eddie nods as the nurse gives him a brief description of his friend's injuries, before letting him back in the room. 

Eddie takes his chair, which had been placed in the corner, and pulls it over to the side of Richie's bed. 

He looks down at his oldest friend, his heart hurting at the sight of him bruised, bloody and broken. He sits there for a few hours, his hand gently resting over Richie's, a few tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. 

It's around 4:56 pm when Richie comes too again.

Richie quietly groans and opens his eyes, his vision immediately landing on Eddie. 

"Oh Richie," The brunette stammers, leaning down to pull the curly-haired man into his arms, finally letting himself go. The two embrace each other for a while, both men shedding tears. 

When Richie pulls away, he looks at Eddie with a concerned look. 

"Where is he?"

Eddie takes a deep breath, before grabbing Richie's hand.

"He's been in surgery for hours Rich, they didn't think he would make it." Eddie quietly murmurs, looking down at his lap. "He's in the ICU, they will only let his emergency contact in to see him."

Richie stares down at his left hand, looking at the gold band on his finger before looking back up at Eddie. 

"But I'm his contact Eds, that means I can go see him." The comedian says, a sad smile pulling at his lips.

Eddie's breathing picks up, and he grabs at his bag, pulling out his spare inhaler before taking a puff. Richie squeezes his friend's hand, having helped him through his asthma attacks before.

"What's wrong Eds?" Richie asks, his throat dry and voice scratchy.

"You aren't his emergency contact Rich, it's a man named Bill Denbrough."

Eddie's words hit him like a ton of bricks. 

"Who the fuck is Bill Denbrough?"

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hi! thank you so much for reading! my tumblr is robinwlw if you wanna talk about this series!


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